


some love doesn't hit the target

by murdork



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 20:54:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8072416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murdork/pseuds/murdork
Summary: Jack doesn't have any impulse control. It causes problems, but they fix it in the end.





	

**Author's Note:**

> my english teacher taught us about proper comma use. gonna misuse them anyways. Art is subjective and jackdavey is real

This was not the plan. There wasn’t actually a plan, but if there had been, this wouldn’t have been it. This is so far away from the vague sense of having a plan that Jack might just have to cut his losses and run. 

He’s sitting on Davey’s bed- which is a feat in itself because Davey’s kinda weird about that sort of thing, kinda weird about a lot of things, really- but Davey’s not beside him. No, Davey’s about four feet away from the bed and he’s holding a hand to his lips. His expression is one of downright shock and Jack would have laughed at any other time because Dave’s not usually so dramatic but he’s the one who put it there. He’s the cause of Davey’s shock. And possible horror. 

So maybe kissing Davey wasn’t the smartest idea, but Jack didn’t really picture it going this bad. 

They’re staring at each other with wide eyes, and Jack really hopes he’s imagining the glassy quality of Davey’s. 

“So, uh-” Davey’s voice cracks and Jack was definitely not imagining because he swipes at his eyes. 

Time to do some serious damage control, “Hey, no problem. It was a mistake, yeah? I kinda zoned out there, with you talking so much and uh, that usually shuts girls up, so.” 

Maybe it wasn’t damage control. Maybe it was Jack trying to cut off Davey’s rejection before it started. 

It didn’t work. Davey’s expression crumbles and Jack feels it like a shot to the chest. He wants to step forward, gather Davey in his arms and kiss him again. 

Because that worked out so well last time, he thinks and it hurts worse than when Davey had sprung away from him. 

“Maybe I should go.” There, that’s better. Let Davey make the decision, because every part of Jack’s body is saying run but there’s a very, very small part of him that wants to stay. 

“Maybe you should.” 

Oh. 

Well, that’s fair. He’s the one who kissed Davey. He should leave. He’s ruined everything he treasures. 

The air around them has settled like a heavy weight. They stare at each other, Jack wary and Davey… something else. Something Jack has seen before but he can’t place it. He looks sort of miserable, but also reserved. Like any of the comfort he learned during the strike is gone. He’s reverted back into the person he was before, and it’s all Jack’s fault. 

It always is. 

Davey shifts awkwardly, giving him a look that makes Jack fidget. Davey regards him like a stranger, like someone to approach with caution. There’s no noise between them, and Jack wants to fill the silence with an apology, a confession, a profession of love but he’s unable to. He knows that it wouldn’t be welcome. That Davey will react just the same as he did minutes prior. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” It comes out high, a self conscious squeak that brings him back to when he was a small momma’s boy. 

Davey shrugs and his eyes stay fixated to the floor in front of him, “I guess.” 

Jack tries to hurry out of there, but he can’t avoid Les, who sits in front of the door and tumbles back as Jack storms through. 

His ear had been pressed up against the door the whole time, another witness to Jack’s mistake. 

“What’s wrong with Davey?” 

“Nothin’, look I’ve gotta go. See you around, kid.” He’s rougher than usual– the urge to cut off all contact with the Jacobs family strong. 

“Wait! Jack, come back! Tell me what happened!” Les yells as he pushes past him and practically runs out the door. He’s only thankful that Les isn’t old enough to deduce what happened. 

 

Back at the boarding house, Jack’s first instinct is to head up to the rooftop. There, he can have some privacy, some time to think things through. 

He didn’t really expect to go unnoticed, but the way every eye in the room turns to him puts him on even more of an edge. 

“What?” He says, daring anyone to speak up. 

Even Race, who’s usually up for antagonizing anyone, leaves it alone. He goes back to dealing cards out to various boys. Nobody looks up again. 

Jack stomps over to his bunk and reaches under it. He pulls out his sketchbook, if it can even be called that. It’s more like a ragged collection of papers held together by sheer determination. He’s got a box of pencils around somewhere, but his sketchbook requires two hands and in haste, pieces fall out. 

Approaching the bunk, Crutchie hands him a single scrap of paper. It’s the back of an advertisement for some fancy watch, and carefully sketched on it is Davey asleep beside a pile of unopened books, one in his hands.

Jack remembers the day he drew it, they’d been hanging out after dinner with Davey’s family, and he’d been so tired he’d passed out in the middle of reading some poem out loud to Jack. 

He wastes no time crumpling it up in his hands and throwing it behind him. His hands are smudged with pencil and Jack knows he’s ruined it. Whatever, it wasn’t worth keeping. 

Crutchie gives him such a look of admonishment that the guilt Jack has repressed comes bubbling up. His face prickles with heat. 

“Let’s talk.” 

“Now, Jack.” He says when Jack doesn’t move. 

The rest of the newsies part the way for them, watching with owl-eyes and it takes Race yelling at them to get them to return to what they were doing. 

Up on the balcony, Jack doesn’t feel any better. It’s no easier to breathe than it was before, and the cold air just seems to numb him. 

Crutchie settles down, his legs dangling through the bars. He’s a picture of contemplation and Jack files it away under, draw later. 

“So, do you wanna talk about it?” Crutchie grabs at his hand and pulls him down. Or, he tugs and Jack reacts. Crutchie couldn’t be forceful if he tried. 

“No.” 

“Jack.” 

There’s a long pause and Jack rubs at his face before replying, “I said no, jesus, don’t you listen?” It’s harsher than it should be, but Jack’s in no mood for one of Crutchie’s consoling speeches. 

He’s tired of being consoled. He’s tired of being coerced back into staying. By Crutchie, by the idea of Davey, by everything. He wants to leave, once and for all. 

“I do listen, but you ain’t talking!” The one thing about Crutchie is he’s used to Jack, he’s used to his mood swings and he won’t let Jack’s issues go. It’s as irritating as it is touching. 

Jack lets his forehead rest against the bars, “I kissed him.” 

“Who, Davey?” 

“Who else?” 

“What happened?” 

“Whaddya think happened? He hates me!” 

He watches Crutchie roll his eyes, “What? You don’t believe me? Why am I here if he don’t! Don’t you think I’d still be over there if he felt the same way? He doesn’t, and now he hates me!” It all comes out in one swoop. 

It makes Crutchie stop for a moment, he bites his cheek, and looks out over the alley. He lets out a breath before continuing, “What happened, and tell me everything. Not just the stuff you think is important.” 

And so Jack does. The sun sets and the cold evening air sets in but Crutchie doesn’t complain as he nods along and makes little humming noises when Jack takes a breath. 

When he finally stops Crutchie looks him dead in the eye, and with a confidence similar to that of Spot’s, says, “You have to talk to him. And don’t protest, you have to talk to him because you kissed him and you didn’t give him any time to think.” 

“He didn’t want to think! He kicked me out.” 

Jack stays quiet as Crutchie speaks again, “This is Davey, he needs time to process things. Especially something like you kissing him completely out of the blue!” 

“Why’d it matter if it was me?” 

“Jack,” Crutchie gives him an exasperated, yet fond, look, “you can’t possibly say that Davey doesn’t feel the same way.” 

Jack shrugs, ears heating up. Davey doesn’t like him like that, and he knows it. There’s no way he could, not with the way he reacted. 

Crutchie just sighs, and puts his head on Jack’s shoulder. Jack lets his hands fall away from the bars and wraps an arm around his shoulder. 

“Just talk to him, alright? Explain yourself, even if you don’t want the answer.” 

“Alright, whatever you say. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.” 

They stay out there longer than they should, but it’s quieter and easier than explaining to the guys what happened. Jack doesn’t want to explain what happened, doesn’t want to give them a reason to look at Davey funny. 

-

Jack doesn’t end up talking to Davey the next day. Or the one after that. Or the one after that or the one after that, in fact, it takes a whole week to even catch sight of Davey. 

Jack didn’t expect them to be back to normal immediately, but he didn’t think Davey would ignore him. Finally, after a week of separation, Jack catches sight of him. It’s really Les he sees first, but Davey’s never far behind. They’re not in their usual selling spot, they haven’t been for a week, but instead a few blocks shy of no-man's land- where no newsie even attempts to sell, it’s so poor.

He approaches them quietly, maybe a little too quiet because they don’t seem to notice them. 

“Why’re we selling here again, David? We didn’t make a lot yesterday. Can’t we go back to our usual place?” Les whines, kicking at the unsold stack of papes. 

“For the last time, Les, no. Not for awhile, alright? And stop kicking that, you’ll ruin them.” Davey’s voice is tight, like before the strike. 

“I miss Jack. You’re no fun without him.” 

If possible, Davey gets even more tense at that, “Well, if he missed us maybe he would have stopped by.” 

“What do you think I’m doing now?” He steps up a little closer and Les turns to him. 

“Jack!” He comes running before stopping a few steps away, like he’d suddenly remembered why he hasn’t seen Jack around. He looks back at Davey. 

Jack follows his eye movements. Davey is standing there, back straight and hands clenched into fists. He’s looking him right in the eye, but there’s a heavy wall of separation between them. 

Jack lifts a hand half in greeting just as Davey says, “What do you want?” in the same tone he gets around strangers. 

It hurts, but Jack powers through. “To talk with you.” 

Davey fixes him with a stare so cold it makes Jack reconsider. “If that’s okay?” 

Jack can see Davey about to decline but Les stops him. “You said you would!” 

Davey sighs, and looks a little sheepish. 

Les looks between them and nods quickly before moving back to Davey and pushing him forwards. Ever graceless, Davey stumbles forward and pinwheels his arms before righting himself, a bit too close to Jack for him to pretend everything is fine. 

Davey looks down at Jack and retracts a little self consciously. As horrible as it is to admit it, it makes Jack feel better. Like he’s still in control even when he knows Davey holds the cards. 

“We should, um, go somewhere?” Their eyes don’t meet, Davey won’t allow it. 

Jack just nods and turns quickly on his heel. He starts a quick pace that Davey, even with his long legs, has to jog to keep up with. He’s not particularly sure where they’re going, but he knows Davey won’t want somewhere too public. He won’t want to cause a scene. 

Too bad it’s kind of Jack’s specialty. 

They near a rundown building and it’s almost too convenient how the door pops open with one try of the handle. Jack lets the door swing open slowly, slowly revealing a barren room coated with dust. Behind him, Davey sneezes. 

“Isn’t this illegal?” He asks, between sniffles. 

“So?” Jack knows he’s being blasé and he also knows that it annoys Davey to no end. 

“So, shouldn’t we not be doing this?” 

“When has that ever stopped me, huh?” 

“Jack.” The solemn quality of Davey’s voice is interrupted by a train of sneezes. 

“Bless you,” he says. 

Davey nods in return. He looks around the building warily. There’s no furnishing and the floor is dusty, their steps leaving footprints. The windows have been boarded up and this is good for two reasons. One, it gives them some privacy and two, it’s dim enough that if Jack’s face falls, Davey won’t see. 

His voice breaks the quiet. “So, are you going to tell me why you’re avoiding me?” 

“I’m not avoiding you.” Davey looks everywhere but at Jack, his mind seems to shift back and forth between two thoughts. Jack wishes he knew what they were. 

“Then why are you selling in the worst neighborhood? Just ‘cause?” 

Busted, Davey blushes. His silence stretches around the room, leaving every movement to echo. They’re both standing, facing each other and if Jack didn’t feel out of place before he would have now. 

He sits without thinking, and regrets it when a plume of dust goes up. Davey sneezes. Then looks strangely before very carefully sitting down, taking pains to clear the dust underneath him first. 

They stay silent, both willing the other to speak first. Jack knows from past instances that Davey won’t speak up. That he can’t speak up. That when faced with confrontation, Davey’s usually level-headed mindset evaporates. It leaves him with stutters and stammers and a tangle in his mind. A heavy rock settles in his stomach at the realization that Jack caused this stall. 

He’s always been one to embellish the truth, he knows this. Without it, he’d surely be lying facedown in some gutter somewhere. It’s only with Davey that he feels guilty for twisting words. Davey requires honesty. 

It is for this reason that he starts the conversation with, “I’m sorry.” 

He is, but not for the reason Davey must assume. He’s sorry he didn’t think before acting. He’s not sorry for the way he felt as their lips met. He’s sorry for the excuse— the lie that came out of his mouth moments after Davey rejected him.

Looking up, but not at Jack, Davey nods. It’s a terse, short thing and it reminds Jack just how reserved Davey tries to be.

“It’s alright.” The lie bleeds through the room like paint. Jack can almost see it, running bright red at the corners of the building. Davey has never lied to Jack before. It hurts more than it should. Afterall, isn’t it good for Davey to learn the tricks of the trade? 

High on adrenaline, Jack’s mind takes control of his mouth. He’s nowhere near humble, but it is not bragging to say that he knows his words during the strike were powerful. They still are powerful. Right now though, Jack’s mind has left him. He’s a man of actions, but there doesn’t seem to be an action for, “I’m sorry I ruined everything but I’m not sorry for kissing you.” 

In the dust beside him he draws meaningless shapes. A circle. A square. Something that may (or may not) resemble a heart. He scratches that one out. 

“Can I ask why?” It comes out in a rush, like Davey took one from Jack’s book and spoke first, thought later. He struggles with the next sentence. “I’m just- confused. Do you usually kiss the guys when they talk too much?” His voice dies down to a whisper at the end, cheeks aflame. 

Jack struggles to keep his own composure. “Nobody talks like you talk, Davey.” 

He’s not sure why he’s staying so tight-lipped. He’s never been one to hide his affections. He knows who he likes. What he doesn’t know is if Davey shares his mindset. He’s also not sure he wants the answer. 

He can practically see the frustration pouring out of his ears. “Jack.” 

“Davey.” He matches the tone, but not the expression. Where Davey is solemn and still red from embarrassment, Jack lets his mouth turn up at that corners. 

Davey knows when he’s being mocked, and his mouth twists downwards. Disapproving, but not entirely upset. 

This is a turning point, Jack knows. The burden on his shoulders lightens minisculely. 

If it was anyone other than Davey, Jack would consider this issue resolved. But Jack knows Davey, Jack loves Davey (the thought spills out, he wants to reel it back in, but he can’t) and he knows that if they are to continue as they were, Jack has to fess up. 

A thousand protests spring up in his mind. Davey doesn’t feel the same way. Davey could never feel the same way. Can Davey even comprehend feeling that way towards someone like Jack? 

Swallowing these doubts, or at least forgetting they exist for the moment, Jack summons any courage he might’ve felt. 

“Look, Davey. I lied, okay? That day when I kissed you and said it didn’t mean nothing. It wasn’t just me shutting you up, and I know it ain’t what you want to hear–but it’s the truth.” 

All the air in the room seems to disappear at Davey’s sharp gasp. Jack can’t tell if it’s accusatory, or disgusted, or anything else. And he doesn’t have time to think about it either because apparently a large amount of dust accompanied that intake of breath and now Davey’s coughing up a storm. 

Jack’s by his side in an instant, forgetting the issues at hand, rubbing circles on Davey’s back as he wheezes away.

“Not the best place for a confession, huh?” He lets a laugh out, ready to brush Davey’s rejection off with humor. It’s much easier that way. 

Davey coughs a little more. “Not really. Did you mean that?” 

“I don’t say what I don’t mean. At least, not when it comes to you.” Jack lets his hand rest at Davey’s shoulders, settling against him. Davey doesn’t protest and a shred of hope is felt. 

“But then why’d you leave? Why’d you lie?” 

“Davey, you practically flew away from me. I was scared you were gonna start crying or yelling or something.”

Davey blushes, and mutters something that sounds like, “I didn’t cry.” 

He speaks louder this time, to Jack. “That was my first kiss. You startled me.” 

Jack didn’t know what he thought before, but guilt comes hurtling back into him. His arm retracts from Davey’s shoulders and he slumps. He knows he looks like the poster-child for moping, but so what? 

“Jack.” It’s an exasperated tone, but fond in a way that makes Jack turn back to face Davey. “I was surprised. I didn’t think– I didn’t know you… felt the same way.” 

Jack stops listening because his mind gets stuck on felt the same way. It runs laps in his head over and over again. 

He’s brought back to the present by Davey’s hand on his. It’s cool, and soft to the touch and Jack immediately latches on to it. Davey blushes, and Jack’s reminded of just how shy he is. 

Jack knows he’s not as smart as say, Katherine, but he’s always thought he was good with knowing who liked him and who didn’t. Somehow, Davey remained an enigma, up until this moment. 

“So… you like me, huh? ” The tension gone, Jack allows himself to slip back into his teasing nature. The guilt is still there, but it is quickly receding as Davey rests his head against Jack.

Davey mutters something unintelligible. 

“What was that?” He smiles more. 

“Shut up.” 

It’s the perfect opportunity, Jack brings Davey’s face up to meet his. 

“Make me.”

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on tunglr @ hyicinthus


End file.
